


"Bad End" - A Frit-ish Write!

by Friku8706



Category: DBZ - Fandom, Dbs - Fandom, Dragon Ball Super, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Angst, Anime, Blood, Death, Frit, Fritters - Freeform, Minor gore(?), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 12:39:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Friku8706/pseuds/Friku8706
Summary: So, small warning... this DOES describe a bit of violence. But other wise, it's some fairly intense Frost angst. Enjoy! xP





	"Bad End" - A Frit-ish Write!

Like a busted pipe, he felt the rushing flow of thick crimson seeping out of his stomach. He should’ve stayed home…  
He had been warned countless times. He had only wished to taste freedom again, to fight and even use his shifty advantages to assist his partner. He never thought acting a little generous for once would lead to this….  
His vision was nothing but a blur, his pupils dilated as he was forced to stare up at a cloudy, mournful sky from his sprawled position. His scraped up hand weakly sat across his gaping wound, which poured with the warm, bitter greetings of blood. His fingernails prodded subconsciously at a small flap of skin from the tear in his mid-section. And as if his condition wasn’t bad enough, he swore he couldn’t feel his tail anymore. Maybe it was missing…. or perhaps, it had been smashed or sapped of its energy to where it couldn’t even twitch?   
Damnit.  
At least it wouldn’t be much longer. Frost could hardly feel the pain anymore, the desperate attempts of his body trying to cope with the now prominent danger provoking an uncomfortable numbness in his torso up to his lower ribs. But his chest hurt… and a dull, aching pain continued to throb in the place of where his heart once was. It felt missing, so much life sustaining fluids having been drained from its small, slowly pumping form.  
Soon…  
“Hit….” he could only whisper out the name in a way that expressed guilt and lonely longing. He wondered where the assassin was…. and whether or not the people involved in the car crash he had caused only moments ago were okay. He knew for a fact that he himself was certainly not okay. He should’ve known better… and getting killed by a large truck of all things made him feel pathetically miserable. He didn’t want to be remembered dying like this… but it wasn’t like it was his choice anymore.  
Slowly, he let a breathless sigh slip passed his quivering lips, which were stained with the cruel reminder that he had trusted the streets. His teeth were slightly chipped, and they, to, were hued with a subtle darkness caused by the blood dripping down his chin from the corners of his mouth. A single tap to the deep cuts with his tongue made him wince.  
Why wasn’t he dead? Hadn’t the universe abused him well enough by now? What did it take to satisfy the forces that were the reasons for the torture he had endured all his life?!  
It wasn’t even instant. He couldn’t even fly the moment before it all happened. It was a decaying comprehension that was cutting at his skull, cracking it by every oozing second. He was nothing more than a damn deer in the headlights until all went white and he heard the faded sound of a quick wack of his head against concrete. And when he pondered for a bit, it dawned on him that the bio-gem in his head might as well have cracked. Maybe that’s why he kept feeling a terrible migraine throughout this prolonged, excruciating moment. Walking across a busy street was never his fancy, and of all nights to risk doing so, he….. he acted like a fool. Like an ignorant toddler falling for a strangers candy van trick. But instead of being kidnapped by someone who aimed to gradually rip away at his flesh or use him for some sick fantasy, Frost would be taken away by some type of horrific natural selection. He didn’t even want to call it that anymore, it just wasn’t fair.   
Never again…  
He wanted to feel that sweet embrace of the after life, regardless if it simply threw him forcefully into a flaming pit. At least then, his passing would be as instant as his pain. So, at that agonizingly patient point in time, the Ice-jin decided that he’d rather experience many quick and painless deaths that sent him to Hell rather than a single, slow and literally gut wrenching one that would shove him into limbo. It sucked, and he wasn’t afraid to cry over it. It wasn’t like anyone was near to see him or catch on to his suffering sobs anyways.  
And that searing reality further convinced him that Hit wasn’t coming back. At least, not for the time being. His own beloved spouse probably had no idea that the pirate was sinking away into permanent rest. And for a good second, Frost liked it that way. At least he wouldn’t leave the world seeing the hitmans salty tears dripping down and splashing his scratched up skin. It would only stir up more burning sensations.  
But yet, even from his supine position, he drew comfort from imagining the one he cared for peering down at him, holding him tightly in a warm, delicate grasp which stayed with him through his departure from the world. Because he was cold… and he was alone… he was in pain… and worst of all, he was helpless. He couldn’t bare the idea of being forgotten after this. If he was remembered for anything, it better be his criminal accomplishments. They seemed to be the only thing he was good at doing anyways.   
It hurt…  
By each second, the lizard could both feel and hear his heart rate dropping inside his blank spaced mind. The vivid sounds of firetrucks and police cars in the distance were now only foggy, unconcerning memories to him. He could barely tell the difference between a childs mortified cry and a starving kittens scream once a ringing sounded in his ears.  
Why did it have to end like this…  
As his vocalized despair echoed down the now desolate road, he felt a wave of fatigue crawling up his limps.And then, hesitantly…. ever so lightly, his eyelids started to lower. His eyes seemed to tremble with the tears he set free, which mixed with the metallic taste on his lips. Anyone who would’ve given him nothing more than a tiny glance would spot the hollow of his irises, for they now flickered between breathing and going limp. Where was Hit… why wasn’t he here? Frost only had one possible answer to that question that pulled so ruthlessly at his brain. Assassinations. A simple, almost poignant answer. Frost had been quite eager to finally try it out- to go out in midnight glory by his lovers side, killing and earning cash beneath ceilings and blazing stars that were painted on top of a deep, ocean blue night canvas.  
But now there were no stars… there was no Hit… no glory, no nighttime sky to sooth him with its darkened colors.  
There was only silence… and a frigid, unwelcoming gloom manifesting inside himself.


End file.
